457 


:  Lincoln 


GIFT   OF 

THOMAS   RUTHFPFORD  BACCtf 
. MEMORIAL  LibKARY 


"  FOR  FIFTY  YEARS  HE  COULD  NOT  REMEMBER  FEELING  A 
THRILL  OF  JOY  OR  SORROW  OVER  THE  HAPPENINGS  OF  AN 
OTHER.  .  .  BUT  GOD  HAD  FLASHED  BEFORE  HIS  MENTAL 
EYES  A  PICTURE  OF  HIS  OWN  SOUL." 


THE  BUST 
OF 

LINCOLN 


JAMES  FRANCIS  DWYER 


Garden  City  New  York    *? 

DOUBLEDASfjPAOE  STCOMPANY 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
THE  PHILLIPS  PUB 
LISHING  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1912,  by 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  Co. 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 
translation  into  foreign  languages, 
including  the  Scandinavian 


So  m?  GOOD  frienti 

DatJiD 


272513 


Cfte 


of  Lincoln 


|HIS  is  the  story  of  a 
Manhattan  miracle. 
It  concerns  a  Boy 
and  a  Maid,  the 
Miser  of  Greeley 
Square,  and  a  little  plaster  bust 
of  Abraham  Lincoln.  The  three 
persons  and  the  bust  came  to 
gether  in  a  place  of  boarding- 
houses  in  New  York  City,  and  it 
was  there  that  Providence  worked 
the  wonder. 

The  story  opens  in  April,  which 
is  the  proper  month  in  which  to 
lay  the  foundation  for  a  New  York 
love  story.  In  those  crisp  days  of 
budding  Spring  when  the  frolicking 


tfUZT  OF  LINCOLN 


breezes  that  charge  up  from  the 
Line  are  filled  with  all  sorts  of 
delicious  odours,  strange  longings 
stir  the  hearts  of  youths  and 
maidens.  For  them  the  whine  of 
the  trolley  car  is  changed  to  a 
merry  chanson;  the  elevated  trains 
grind  out  Homeric  chants  to  the 
Red  Gods  as  they  race  along  the 
skyline;  and  the  ferryboats  hoot 
ing  in  the  soft,  velvety  nights 
arouse  fancies  that  have  been 
slumbering  through  the  days  of 
snow  and  slush. 

So  it  was  in  April  that  the  Boy 
and  the  Maid  fell  in  love.  Theirs 
were  two  of  the  first  hearts  that 
responded  to  the  witchery  of  the 
winds  that  came  cavorting  out  of 
the  South,  those  scouting,  reckless, 
musk-laden  winds  who  lead  the 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

advance  army  of  the  Spring 
Maiden,  and  who  fall  desperately 
upon  the  flanks  of  Winter  the 
moment  he  turns  tail.  The  Boy's 
name  was  John,  and  the  Maid's 
name  was  Lulu,  and  they  lived  in 
boarding-houses  on  opposite  sides 
of  Thirty-fifth  Street.  John  had  a 
little  room  on  the  third  floor  of  his 
boarding-house,  Lulu  had  the  same 
kind  of  a  room  on  the  third  floor  of 
hers.  John  had  a  little  window 
opening  out  on  the  thoroughfare, 
so  had  Lulu.  Between  the  two  was 
the  width  of  Thirty-fifth  Street,  but 
what  is  Thirty-fifth  Street  when 
hearts  are  young  and  Spring  has 
come  to  Manhattan? 

John  was  a  clerk  in  a  shipping 
office  on  Broadway,  Lulu  was  a 
stenographer  in  the  office  of  Wel- 

5 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

sher  and  Hawksbill,  legal  lights 
who  hid  their  somewhat  watery 
refulgence  in  a*  dingy  suite  on 
Liberty  Street.  And,  strange  as  it 
may  appear,  it  was  the  blear-eyed 
Welsher  who  discovered  Lulu's  se 
cret.  On  the  twenty-second  day 
of  April  the  lawyer  brought  a  legal 
conveyance  to  the  girl  and  pointed 
with  a  stubby  forefinger  to  a  word 
on  the  first  typed  sheet. 

"This  man's  name  is  not  John," 
he  said  sternly.  "It  is  Jean,  yet 
you  have  typed  it  John  in  three 
different  places." 

Lulu  blushed  and  seized  the  sheet 
with  trembling  hands.  Hurriedly 
she  erased  the  first  "Jean,"  with 
the  bewhiskered  face  of  Welsher 
peering  over  her  shoulder,  then  she 
tapped  the  keys  with  her  dainty 
6 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

fingers,  and,  lo  and  behold!  the 
word  John  appeared  again  where 
it  should  not  have  appeared ! 

Welsher  whistled  softly  as  Lulu, 
with  flaming  cheeks,  sprang  from 
her  chair  and  rushed  into  the  outer 
office.  The  lawyer  was  a  shrewd 
person.  He  stared  out  of  the  win 
dow  for  a  few  moments,  sniffed 
the  aromatic  breezes  that  frolicked 
up  the  canons  made  by  the  tall 
office  buildings,  then  retreated 
slowly  to  his  own  office.  Welsher 
had  sniffed  the  Spring  in  the  air, 
and  he  let  the  conveyance  wait  till 
Lulu  had  recovered  her  composure. 

John  rode  home  with  Lulu  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  day  when  she 
persisted  in  placing  his  name  in 
the  place  that  was  intended  for 
another.  They  rode  uptown  in  a 

7 


TEE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

trolley  car  through  an  atmosphere 
that  seemed  as  if  it  had  been  dyed 
a  golden  tint  in  the  magic  vats  of 
Samarkand.  The  sun  was  setting 
in  a  tangle  of  crimson  cloud  that 
looked  like  a  ravelled  piece  of 
Tyrian  tapestry.  Velvety  puffs  of 
air,  balm-drenched,  thuriferous, 
intoxicating,  touched  their  faces 
like  rollers  of  satin.  Back  along 
the  supporting  lines  to  the  tropics 
the  scouting  breezes  had  sent  news 
of  the  retreat  of  Winter,  and  Spring, 
like  a  wild,  barbaric  queen,  was 
surging  over  the  city  in  all  the 
glory  of  her  wondrous  vestments. 

Lulu  spoke  of  Mr.  Welsher's  idio 
syncrasies.  She  told  of  his  little 
fits  of  melancholy  and  temper 
when  the  dollars  dodged  from  the 
stubby  fingers  that  looked  as  if 
8 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

they  had  been  worn  blunt  in  grop 
ing  for  coins  on  the  board  of  the 
god  of  chance.  And  John  found 
imperfections  in  his  superior  to 
suit  the  girl's  critical  mood. 

"My  boss  is  bad  tempered  too," 
he  said.  "His  name  is  Crabbe." 

"C-r-a-b?"  asked  Lulu,  and 
John  thrilled  at  the  manner  in 
which  the  little  red  lips  had  spelled 
the  word. 

They  laughed  at  each  other's 
simple  witticisms.  When  Cupid  is 
interlocutor  it  doesn't  require  a 
scintillating  jeu  d*  esprit  to  bring  a 
smile.  But  the  Boy  spared  no 
efforts  to  make  Lulu  smile.  \Vhen 
she  laughed  she  displayed  a  set  of 
teeth  that  were  sweeter  than  any 
string  of  baby  pearls  from  Bahrein 
or  Condatchy. 

9 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

An  old  man,  sitting  opposite  the 
pair,  neglected  his  paper  to  sun 
himself  in  their  reflected  happiness. 
He  clawed  away  years  choked 
with  stock  jobbing  and  trading, 
and  for  one  ecstatic  moment  he 
caught  the  perfume  of  a  magnolia- 
scented  night  that  was  buried 
under  forty  years  of  sordid  trade 
battles.  It  is  wonderful  to  con 
template  the  influence  of  love.  It 
is  the  wand  by  which  Nature  works 
her  mysteries. 

Thirty-fifth  Street  was  trans 
formed  to  Lulu  and  John  when 
they  alighted  from  the  car.  The 
weather-faded  houses  had  been 
peppered  with  gold  from  the  set 
ting  sun  till  they  shone  like  the 
Ca  d'Oro  on  the  Grand  Canal.  A 
Neapolitan  with  a  wheezy  organ 
10 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

played  sweeter  music  than  Pierre 
Vidal,  Prince  of  Troubadours.  All 
the  clangour  of  the  big  city,  from 
the  screeching  of  the  junk  man's 
cart  to  the  infernal  tat  tat  of  a 
pneumatic  riveter,  was  welded  into 
a  mighty  symphony  with  which 
their  own  heart  beats  were  in  ca 
dence. 

"And  you  will  come  out  after 
dinner?  "  asked  John  as  they  neared 
their  boarding-houses. 

Lulu  blushed  and  nodded  her 
little  head.  The  Spring  breezes  had 
kissed  her  cheeks  to  a  glowing 
pink,  and  her  eyes  shone  brightly. 

"And  where  will  we  go?"  asked 
the  Boy. 

"Anywhere,"  murmured  the 
Maid. 

"Very  good,"  said  John.  " ' Any- 
ii 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

where'  it  is.  I  hope  your  land 
lady  doesn't  serve  for  dinner  the 
dish  you  hate  more  than  any 
other  dish.  Mine  generally  plays 
that  trick  on  me  when  I  am  in  a 
particularly  good  humour.  Don't 
forget.  Seven- thirty  at  your  door." 
John  sprang  up  the  stairs  to  his 
little  room  on  the  third  floor.  The 
room  contained  a  bed  and  a  chair, 
a  cheap  bureau,  an  oleograph  and 
a  small  plaster  bust  of  Abraham 
Lincoln.  Although  the  bust  is 
mentioned  last  it  was  more  im 
portant  than  any  of  the  other 
articles.  The  bed,  chair,  bureau, 
and  oleograph  belonged  to  the  land 
lady,  the  bust  of  Lincoln  belonged 
to  John.  Outside  his  wardrobe  it 
was  the  one  article  he  possessed. 
It  stood  on  a  shelf  near  his  bed, 

12 


TEE  BL'tiT  OF  LINCOLN 

and  when  John  marched  into  the 
room  on  that  Spring  afternoon  the 
calm,  wise  face  of  Lincoln  was 
turned  toward  him. 

"Well,  Mr.  President,"  said  the 
boy  merrily,  "the  plot  thickens. 
We  are  going  out  this  evening. 
This  evening,  mind  you!  Where 
to?  you  ask.  She  said  l  Anywhere/ 
Mr.  President.  Anywhere  I  like. 
We'll  wander  to  the  Fields  of 
Arcady  and  the  Land  Beyond  the 
Sunset.  We'll  tie  a  swing  on  the 
Milky  Way  and  find  out  where  the 
moon  sleeps.  Mr.  Lincoln,  I  can't 
tell  you  how  happy  I  am." 

The  bust  always  smiled  at  John's 
confidences.  The  long-dead  sculp 
tor  who  had  moulded  the  head  had 
stamped  a  strange,  whimsical  ex 
pression  on  the  lean  face,  an  ex- 

13 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

pression  that  invited  secrets. 
Grandfather  Robert,  who  had  pre 
sented  the  bust  to  John,  had  a 
habit  of  addressing  all  his  remarks 
to  it  when  the  loneliness  of  old  age 
came  upon  him,  and  the  habit 
took  a  grip  upon  John  when  he 
came  to  New  York.  Jungle  dwell 
ers,  when  afflicted  by  the  god  of 
lonely  places,  tell  their  secrets  to 
trees,  and  a  country  boy  in  New 
York  is  lonelier  than  a  trapper  in 
the  kaladang  forests  of  Borneo. 

Grandfather  Robert,  who  had 
followed  Grant  from  Galena  to 
Appomattox,  had  presented  the 
little  bust  to  John  when  he  was 
dying.  John  was  his  favourite 
grandchild,  and  the  bust  of  Lin 
coln  was  all  that  Grandfather  Rob 
ert  had  to  leave.  A  few  min- 
14 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

utes  before  he  died  he  picked  up  the 
treasured  possession  and  placed  it 
in  his  grandson's  hands. 

"Keep  him,"  he  whispered. 
"Talk  to  him  when  you  have  no 
one  else  to  talk  to.  I've  had  a  lot 
of  comfort  from  him." 

Of  course  there  was  a  story  about 
the  bust.  Grandfather  Robert 
happened  to  be  on  guard  duty 
when  Lincoln  visited  Grant  at 
Richmond,  and  when  the  President 
was  passing  grandfather,  John's 
relative,  in  a  burst  of  emotion, 
forgot  himself  so  much  that  he 
changed  his  rifle  from  his  right 
hand  to  his  left,  and  thrust  out 
his  dirty  right  hand  to  Lincoln. 

"Banged  if  I  know  what  hap 
pened  to  me  that  day,"  Grand 
father  Robert  would  mumble  in 

15 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

the  dream-days  of  old  age.  "  Some 
thing  happened  to  my  blamed  right 
hand.  I've  been  thinkin'  about 
it  for  forty  years,  an'  I  ain't  no 
wiser  yet.  Not  one  bit  wiser. 
It's  lucky  I  warn't  court-martialed 
for  it!  There  I  was,  standin'  stiff 
as  a  five-year-old  hickory;  an'  jest 
as  the  President  came  along  I 
jerked  the  old  gun  from  one  hand 
to  the  other  an'  put  out  a  dirty  paw 
to  Lincoln!  Warn't  I  the  blamed 
idjut  to  do  a  fool  thing  like  that? 
There  was  the  President  right  in 
front  of  me,  an'  there  was  the 
General  lookin'  at  me  like  a  Kansas 
farmer  lookin'  at  a  brigade  of 
grasshoppers  that  has  got  into 
his  alfalfy,  an'  my  durned  spine 
got  as  wobbly  as  a  bit  of  biled 
macaroni.  Gee  whiz,  didn't  I  wilt! 
16 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

"'I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  President/ 
I  tips  an'  says.  'I  beg  pardon/ 
says  I.  *  I  jest  couldn't  help  it,  sir. 
It  was  this  blamed  arm  of  mine 
that  done  it.  I  was  jest  standin' 
stir!  an'  quiet,  an'  my  danged  arm 
stuck  itself  out  without  askin'  by 
your  leave  or  anything  else.' 
That's  what  I  says  to  Mr.  Lincoln, 
jest  like  that. 

"General  Grant  took  his  cigar 
out  of  his  mouth  an'  looked  at  me 
like  as  if  he  was  goin'  to  say  some- 
thin'  hotter  than  red  pepper,  but 
jest  then  old  Abe  looked  at  the 
General  kind  o'  smiling,  an'  then, 
gosh  dang  it  all!  the  President  put 
out  his  hand  an'  gripped  mine  till 
the  jints  cracked  in  my  fingers. 
'I'm  pleased  to  meet  you/  says 
the  President,  'I  know  you  are  a 

17 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

good  soldier  an'  fightin'  for  your 
country/  he  says,  an'  when  he  said 
that  an'  kept  that  grip  on  my 
fingers,  why  I  clean  forgot  about 
the  General's  black  looks.  I  for 
got  about  everything  jest  then.  I 
forgot  the  army  an'  every  other 
durned  thing  I  had  in  my  head.  I 
only  saw  those  calm,  good  eyes  of 
Abe  Lincoln,  eyes  that  were  fuller 
o'  goodness  than  an  egg  is  of  meat, 
an'  I  didn't  see  them  as  long  as  I 
wanted  to.  No,  I  didn't!  Some 
blamed  tears  got  right  across  my 
own  peepers,  and  when  I  sort  of 
came  to  myself,  Mr.  Lincoln  was 
walkin'  away  with  the  General, 
an'  I  was  snifflin'  like  old  Gabby 
Connors  when  she's  tellin'  about 
the  four  husbands  she  buried. 
"  I  guess  I  was  back  from  the  war 
18 


TEE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

about  five  or  six  weeks  when  that  lit 
tle  plaster  bust  came  along.  There 
warn't  a  word  of  writin'  with  it. 
Jest  Abe  himself ,  packed  up  with  ex- 
celsy  an'shavins,an'  I  don't  know  to 
this  day  who  sent  it.  I  don't  think 
the  President  ordered  it  to  be  sent 
to  me.  I  guess  he  clean  forgot  me 
the  moment  he  turned  his  back, 
although  I  don't  know,  he  warn't 
one  to  forget  things,  was  Abe  Lin 
coln.  Old  Cy  Wiggins  reckons  as 
how  the  President  or  General 
Grant  might  have  told  some  one 
about  that  stunt  of  mine  when  my 
old  right  hand  played  a  trick  on 
me,  an'  that  the  feller  they  told 
might  have  sent  along  the  little 
bust.  Cy  might  be  right.  Any 
how,  there's  the  bust  an'  there's 
the  story.  Gosh  dang  me!  didn't 

19 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

old  Grant  give  me  a  look  for  luck 
when  I  stuck  out  my  paw,  an* 
didn't  Abe  make  my  finger  jints 
crack  when  he  squeezed  my  hand! 
He  was  some  big  man  was  Abra 
ham  Lincoln,  you  jest  bet  he  was!'' 
And  that  is  how  it  came  about 
that  the  little  plaster  bust  of  Lin 
coln  came  to  New  York  from 
Galena,  Illinois.  The  bust  was  a 
sacred  possession.  Its  intrinsic 
value  was  small,  but  its  senti 
mental  value  could  not  be  gauged. 
And  to  the  bust  John  confided  his 
joys  and  sorrows.  The  Rock 
Caves  of  Elephanta  are  lonely,  but 
the  brick  caves  of  New  York  City 
are  lonelier  by  far  to  the  country 
boy  who  comes  to  the  big  town  to 
make  his  fortune.  So  Lincoln  was 
the  first  to  hear  of  Lulu,  and  the  Boy 
20 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

chattered  about  her  as  he  made 
himself  ready  for  the  meeting. 

"  She's  as  sweet  as  clover,"  he 
said,  turning  toward  the  bust. 
"She  is  everything  that  you  could 
wish  for.  Golly,  yes!  And  she  is 
all  alone  in  the  city  like  I  am,  Mr. 
President.  I  see  her  coming  out  of 
the  front  door  now.  Good-bye." 

Lulu,  in  assenting  to  the  Boy's 
proposal,  had  remarked  that  they 
would  go  "anywhere,"  and  it  is 
possible  to  go  "anywhere"  in  New 
York  on  a  Spring  night.  That  is 
if  you  have  Youth  and  Love  to 
carry  you.  Byzantium  or  Baby 
lon,  Tyre  or  Carthage  was  never 
more  wonderful  than  Manhattan. 
It  seemed  so  to  John  and  Lulu  on 
that  evening.  They  rode  uptown 
on  an  elevated  train  that  sang  the 
21 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

Song  of  the  Zinganis  that  can  only 
be  heard  by  lovers  whose  hearts 
are  pure.  An  argent  moon,  cir 
cled  with  a  ring  of  amber  haze,  was 
swinging  in  the  eastern  sky,  and  it 
played  hide  and  seek  with  the  lovers 
as  the  car  rolled  on  through  the 
night.  There  was  magic  in  the 
air.  The  stars  peeped  at  them  like 
the  bright  eyes  of  angels  watching 
at  spyholes  in  the  dome  of  cloud- 
flecked  pearl. 

At  One  Hundred  and  Fortieth 
Street  they  alighted,  climbed  the 
steps  and  stairs  to  the  hill  on  which 
the  City  College  stands  like  a  great 
baronial  castle,  and  from  this 
point  they  looked  down  on  the  big 
apartment  houses  that  shouldered 
each  other  down  to  Riverside  Drive. 
In  the  distance  they  caught  a 

22 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

glimpse  of  the  mighty  Hudson 
that  looked  like  a  gigantic  inser 
tion  of  ivory  satin  between  light- 
spangled  Manhattan  and  the  dark 
Jersey  shore. 

"Let  us  explore,"  said  John. 

"Oh,  do!"  cried  Lulu  excitedly. 
"  I  have  never  been  up  here  before." 

With  the  pure  spirit  of  adventure 
in  their  hearts,  the  spirit  that  makes 
palaces  out  of  paupers'  huts  and 
princes  out  of  peanut  venders, 
they  wandered  past  the  illuminated 
entrances  of  large  apartment 
houses,  speculating  upon  their  own 
chances  of  ever  holding  at  beck 
the  uniformed  attendants  at  the 
doors.  They  were  two  little  lonely 
hall-roomers  turning  the  night  into 
one  of  enchantment  by  the  very 
intensity  of  their  craving  for  Ro- 

23 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

mance.  They  had  a  desire  to 
chant  songs  —  strange  songs  that 
sprang  to  their  lips  unbidden. 
They  felt  near  to  the  little  stars 
that  winked  curiously  when  the 
dawdling  clouds  dragged  their 
ragged  fringe  lengths  across  the  sky. 

They  came  out  upon  Riverside 
Drive,  and  clasping  each  other's 
hands  they  stood  to  drink  in  the 
beauty  of  the  place. 

"It  is  lovely!"  cried  Lulu. 

"It  is  fine!  "said  John. 

From  a  white  yacht  moored  near 
the  Manhattan  shore,  the  notes  of 
a  violin  went  up  into  the  soft  night 
like  subtle  threads  that  enmeshed 
the  senses,  and  it  seemed  to  the 
two  watchers  that  the  ghostly 
shapes  of  schooner  and  barge,  bat 
tered  scow  and  lowly  punt,  were 
24 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

moving  to  the  delicious  strains 
that  came  from  the  illuminated 
fairy  ship.  The  silent,  shadowy 
river  craft  bobbed  and  curtsied 
and  circled  while  the  glittering 
yacht  poured  forth  its  song. 

The  Boy  and  the  Maid  walked  on 
with  the  tireless  feet  of  true  ad 
venturers.  The  Drive  was  a  magic 
vat  in  which  the  mystery  and  in 
toxication  of  the  night  was  stirred 
and  blended,  and  they  quaffed  like 
thirsty  things.  They  pitied  the 
poor  foolish  people  who  were  sitting 
in  music  halls  and  nickelodeans. 
The  night  called  to  the  two  hall- 
roomers.  It  put  its  soft  arms 
around  them  and  caressed  them 
till  they  were  delirious  with  the 
joy  of  it  all.  The  place  was  as 
strange  to  them  as  the  Kayman's 
25 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

Gate  at  Colombo  or  the  camelia- 
bordered  road  to  Nikko. 

"If  it  was  always  Spring!"  cried 
the  Boy,  walking  with  head  erect, 
and  open  nostrils  drinking  hi  the 
night  air.  "  If  it  was  always  Spring, 
what  a  glorious  time  we'd  have!" 

"Wouldn't  we?"  murmured  the 
Maid.  "There'd  be  no  snow  or 
slush.  Look,  John,  look  at  the 
big  glowworms  climbing  up  the 
hill  on  the  other  side  of  the  river!" 

"The  big  glowworms"  were  the 
Fort  Lee  cars  climbing  up  from  the 
ferry,  and  the  two  adventurers 
stood  and  watched  them  follow  one 
another  in  slow  procession.  What 
a  wonderful  place  it  was.  On  the 
big  viaduct  they  leaned  over  and 
waved  to  the  cars  that  whizzed  up 
and  down  far  beneath  them.  Along 
26 


TEE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

the  moon-washed  Drive  an  occa 
sional  auto  dashed  like  a  bright- 
eyed  goblin  that  had  been  lured 
out  by  the  beauty  of  the  night. 

The  water  called  the  two,  as  it 
calls  to  all  adventurers.  The  river 
sang  a  song  that  lured  them  down 
to  it.  They  took  tickets  on  one  of 
the  old  red  ferryboats  that  swish 
from  shore  to  shore,  like  important 
duchesses,  leaving  a  train  of  lacy 
foam  in  their  wake.  To  Spuyten 
Duyvil  and  beyond  was  a  stretch 
of  silver.  Up  stream  the  white 
yacht  was  still  spraying  the  night 
with  golden  music,  and  still  the 
ghostly  shapes  of  tug  and  brick 
barge  danced  a  rigadoon  to  the 
strains. 

On  the  Jersey  shore  the  two 
consumed  ice-cream  sodas  —  Ro- 
27 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

mance  doesn't  shudder  at  the 
consumption  of  ice-cream  sodas  by 
those  who  seek  her  —  and  on 
another  matronly  ferryboat  they 
recrossed  the  river  to  the  city. 
John  thought  of  Grandfather 
Robert  and  President  Lincoln  at 
that  moment.  As  they  stood  on 
the  upper  deck  as  the  old  ferryboat 
butted  its  way  across  the  Hudson, 
Grant's  Tomb  stood  up  majestic 
and  inspiring  in  the  moonlight, 
and  the  picture  brought  to  the 
mind  of  the  boy  that  other  picture 
which  the  story  of  his  grandfather 
had  etched  within  his  brain.  It 
was  then  that  he  told  Lulu  the 
history  of  the  little  bust,  and  how 
Grandfather  Robert,  after  thrust 
ing  out  his  dirty  hand  to  the  Presi 
dent,  was  afraid  that  Grant  was 
28 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

going  to  say  "some thin'  hotter  than 
red  pepper." 

They  rode  downtown  on  the  ele 
vated,  the  moon  now  high  above 
the  tallest  buildings,  and  their  souls 
were  drenched  with  the  magic  of 
the  night. 

"How  long  is  it  since  we  left 
here?"  asked  John,  as  they  neared 
their  dingy  boarding-houses  in 
Thirty-fifth  Street. 

"I  am  doubtful  if  we  ever  lived 
here,"  said  Lulu  gently.  "I  am 
wondering  if  there  is  really  such  a 
man  as  Welsher,  a  man  with  stubby 
fingers  and  a  skrimpy  beard.  Good 
night.  Oh,  good-night!" 

John  looked  at  the  little  bust  of 

Lincoln  when  he  climbed  to  his 

room.     "I've  had  a  grand  evening, 

Mr.  President,"  he  said  gravely. 

29 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

"I've  had  a  wonderful  evening, 
and  she  is  more  wonderful  than  any 
thing  I  can  think  of.  I  bet  you 
would  say  the  same  if  you  could 
see  her.  I'm  sure  you  would." 

This  may  seem  a  very  prosaic 
description  of  an  evening's  pleas 
ure  if  read  to  your  tired  and  very 
blase  friend  who  has  seen  Mont- 
martre  in  the  sickly  dawn,  who  has 
bought  midnight  suppers  at  Giro's 
at  Monte  Carlo,  or  found  his  en 
joyment  in  racing  home  from 
Coney  with  a  bicycle  policeman  at 
his  auto  wheel,  but  John  and  Lulu 
had  clean  hearts.  To  them  the 
Adirondacks  in  Springtime  would 
be  more  beautiful  than  all  the 
tinsel  palaces  that  were  ever  built 
for  jaded  voluptuaries.  They  had 
all  the  passionate  purity  of  youth, 

3° 


TEE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

and  that  wonder  night  was  the  first 
of  many  excursions.  They  de 
tested  the  hot  picture  shows  where 
the  endless  fluttering  films  brought 
on  a  species  of  mental  torpor. 
They  longed  for  the  open  places 
and  the  cool  nights  —  the  nights 
that  wrapped  them  round  like 
fairy  godmothers.  They  made  nick 
els  do  the  work  of  magic  carpets, 
and  Love,  pure  Love,  bound  them 
together  in  their  loneliness. 

And  every  evening  when  John 
reached  his  little  room  on  the  third 
floor  of  his  boarding-house,  he 
would  tell  his  happiness  to  the 
smiling  bust  of  Lincoln.  He  would 
relate  the  wonders  of  each  trip, 
and  tell  of  the  hopes  and  ambitions 
that  had  flared  up  during  the  out 
ing. 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

"She  is  wonderful,"  he  would 
say  over  and  over  again.  "I  don't 
know  what  I  would  do  in  this  town 
if  it  wasn't  for  her  friendship,  Mr. 
President.  I  couldn't  mope  about 
the  streets  or  go  into  poolrooms. 
But  you  wait  till  I  hit  this  city  a 
whack !  You  wait !  Wait  till  they 
begin  to  speak  of  the  Boy  from 
Galena.  Galena,  Mr.  Lincoln! 
Your  fighting  bulldog  knew  that 
spot,  didn't  he?" 

The  wonder  nights  continued 
through  the  days  of  early  Summer, 
through  the  sun-smitten  months 
of  July  and  August,  when  the  city 
sweltered  in  a  dead  atmosphere. 
Autumn  slipped  over  the  Jersey 
shore  and  flung  her  yellow  shawls 
over  the  treetops.  Winter  was 
close.  Little  flurries  came  down 
32 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

from  the  north  and  shook  the  park 
elms  like  invisible  hands.  Leaves 
fell  on  the  sidewalks  and  huddled  in 
clusters  like  frightened  things. 

John  and  Lulu  shuddered  as  the 
hoarse  notes  of  the  Snow  King's 
bugle  came  out  of  the  north.  Who 
ever  stops  to  think  of  the  board 
ing-house  lovers  in  Winter  time? 
Where  can  they  go  on  nights  of 
snow  and  slush?  The  Boy  and  the 
Maid  were  engaged.  They  were 
dreaming  of  a  little  flat  in  Harlem 
where  the  bust  of  Lincoln  would 
have  the  position  of  importance 
on  the  dresser  of  bird's-eye  maple. 
John  had  proposed  a  place  on  the 
bric-a-brac  shelf  in  the  dining 
room,  but  Lulu  had  objected. 

"No,  no,"  she  cried.  "He  must 
be  by  himself.  You  know,  John, 
33 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

I  think  it  was  the  President  who 
sent  the  bust  to  your  grandfather. 
Mr.  Lincoln  would  have  done  it  if 
he  thought  your  dear  old  grand 
father  would  have  got  one  tenth 
the  pleasure  from  the  gift  that  he 
really  did  get." 

John  gripped  the  girl's  little  hand 
and  kissed  it  gently.  "You're 
right,  Lulu,"  he  said.  "You're 
always  right.  Mr.  Lincoln  would 
have  sent  the  bust,  or  ten  thousand 
busts,  if  he  thought  the  gift  would 
bring  happiness  to  the  person  re 
ceiving  it.  You  just  bet  he  would. 
He  was  that  sort.  He  understood 
what  happened  to  grandfather's 
right  arm,  and  that  showed  that  his 
heart  was  in  the  right  place." 

And  then  one  day  came  Winter. 
It  sprang  upon  the  city  like  a  paw- 

34 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

ing,  snorting  terror  of  the  air.  Mad 
blasts  went  scurrying  up  and  down 
the  streets,  clashed  with  one  an 
other  at  the  corners,  and  clutched 
the  throats  of  pedestrians  with 
frigid  ringers.  And  in  that  first 
onslaught  of  the  Snow  King's  Cos 
sacks  John  fell  a  victim.  He  went 
home  spirit-frozen,  and  when  the 
landlady  peeped  into  his  room  next 
morning  he  was  suffering  the  tor 
tures  of  the  damned. 

O  you  brick  caves  of  New  York 
City!  O  you  poor,  pinched-souled 
landladies!  You  know  from  long 
experience  the  amount  of  senti 
ment  there  is  in  shipping  compan 
ies  whose  clerks  fall  sick.  John's 
landlady  knew.  She  had  the  pre 
vision  of  her  class.  In  the  weary 
weeks  that  followed  that  first  day's 

35 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

sickness  she  guessed  how  things 
would  go.  The  shipping-office  for 
got  him,  the  clerks  forgot  him,  the 
office  boys  forgot  him,  only  Lulu 
remembered  —  Lulu  and  the  bust 
of  Abraham  Lincoln.  And  it  was 
to  Lincoln  that  John,  with  throb 
bing  head  and  smarting  eyes, 
turned  for  comfort. 

"It's  mighty  hard,  but  I'm  not 
kicking,  Mr.  President,"  he  would 
whisper.  "I'm  not  kicking,  but 
this  is  tough,  mighty  tough.  You 
weren't  one  to  grumble  about  hard 
knocks  though,  so  I  suppose  you 
think  I  ought  to  battle  through. 
Well,  I  will." 

It  is  awkward  for  a  girl  to  do 
anything  for  a  sick  man  in  a  dif 
ferent  boarding-house,  even  if  she 
is  engaged  to  marry  him.  John's 
36 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

landlady  wore  the  cap  of  Mother 
Grundy  and  the  suspicion-breeding 
eye  of  Sheridan's  Mrs.  Candor. 
She  would  permit  Lulu  to  be  in  the 
room  with  John  only  while  she, 
poor  acrid  soul,  was  there  to  act  as 
chaperon,  and  when  John's  purse 
ran  low  those  few  minutes  were 
given  grudgingly. 

"It  will  do  him  no  good  for  you 
to  sit  chatterin'  to  him,"  she  said 
sharply  to  Lulu  on  the  first  evening 
that  John  failed  to  hand  over  the 
week's  board  money.  "It  only 
does  him  harm.  What  he  wants 
is  quiet  an'  good  food,  an'  he's 
gettin'  that ! ' '  And  Lulu,  with  her 
knowledge  of  the  cheerless  abodes 
of  the  unattached,  wept  as  the 
acrid  one  escorted  her  down  the 
stairs  where  the  red  roses  of  the 

37 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

carpet  had  faded  'neath  the  tread 
of  the  army  of  top-floor  Fronts  and 
Backs. 

"Thinkin'  o'  marriage,"  said  the 
landlady  to  her  best  Permanent,  as 
the  girl  crossed  the  street,  "an' 
here  he  is  sick  an'  with  precious 
few  dimes  behind  him  I'm  thinkin'. 
He  couldn't  come  up  with  the 
board  money  to-day  an'  things 
going  higher  an'  higher  in  the  food 
line  every  day." 

So  John  was  left  alone  with  the 
bust  of  Lincoln  for  hours  uncount 
able.  They  were  hours  that  split  his 
heart  with  the  wedge  of  loneliness. 
Grandfather  Robert's  habit  of  talk 
ing  to  the  bust  gripped  him  hard 
in  those  hours.  The  god  of  lonely 
places  grinned  at  him  from  the 
enamel-chipped  bed  rail,  and  he 
38 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

found  sometimes  that  he  had  been 
chattering  to  the  bust  without  be 
ing  aware  of  the  fact. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Mr.  Lincoln," 

he  would  cry,  as  the  bust  smiled 

down  upon  him  with  the  same  old, 

.  whimsical  smile  that  had  delighted 

|  Grandfather    Robert.       "I    can't 

help  growling.     I  know  you  stood 

some  hard  knocks,  Mr.  President, 

but  you  were  in  the  country.     Gee ! 

if  I  was  only  in  the  country  instead 

of  being  in  this  rabbit  warren." 

The  Winter  tore  along  with  rain 
and  snow,  and  stifling  radiators 
that  groaned  like  souls  in  pain. 
The  devils  imprisoned  in  the  radia 
tors  battered  John's  aching  brain 
with  their  clanging  hammers.  They 
whistled  and  shrieked  at  him,  wak 
ing  him  from  fitful  slumber  with 

39 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

mad  pounding  on  their  iron  prison. 
He  spoke  to  Lincoln  of  them  in 
moments  of  semi-delirium,  and 
Lincoln  smiled  the  quiet,  tired 
smile  that  had  soothed  Grandfather 
Robert. 

Lulu  paid  the  doctor.  John 
didn't  know  of  this,  but  doctors 
must  live.  Out  of  the  scant  re 
mains  of  the  small  salary  she  re 
ceived  from  Welsher,  the  girl  bought 
fruit  for  the  sick  boy,  and  the  land 
lady  sniffed  disdainfully. 

"He  doesn't  want  fruit,"  she 
would  growl.  "He  should  eat  up 
the  good  food  I  bring  up  to  him, 
an'  he  would  get  well  quick."  But 
John,  in  the  moments  when  he 
could  forget  the  devils  in  the 
radiator,  would  eat  the  fruit  that 
Lulu  brought  and  leave  the  un- 
40 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

inviting  messes  of  the  landlady 
untouched.  When  a  "  Top  Front " 
is  ill  there  is  a  likelihood  that  he 
will  get  his  meals  half  an  hour  after 
they  are  cooked,  and  the  veneer 
of  grease  that  forms  during  the 
wait  does  not  make  the  dishes  in 
viting. 

John  got  worse.  He  craved  to 
get  away  from  the  odour  of  the 
boarding-house  carpets  that  rose 
to  torment  him  on  damp  days.  Is 
there  anything  more  horrible  than 
the  odour  of  boarding-house  car 
pets  on  wet  days?  He  wanted  to 
escape  the  fiends  in  the  radiator 
that  tormented  him  with  their 
everlasting  pounding.  Lulu  wept. 
The  doctor  shook  his  head.  The 
landlady  spoke  about  something 
overdue,  a  record  of  which,  in 
41 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

Thibetan-like  characters,  was  pre 
served  in  a  greasy  notebook  hang 
ing  over  the  kitchen  sink. 

"I  can't  bring  you  sunshine!" 
she  cried  irritably,  once  when  the 
boy  had  expressed  a  longing  for 
the  return  of  Spring.  "I  can't  buy 
it  for  you  either.  You  owe  me 
enough  already!" 

We  must  not  blame  the  land 
lady.  Landladies  have  hard  times 
in  Manhattan,  but  the  thrust  was 
a  cruel  one.  The  god  of  lonely 
places  danced  a  jig  on  the  bent  rail 
of  the  bed,  and  the  boy  looked  at 
Lincoln  with  moist  eyes. 

"I  guess  I'll  pull  through,  Mr. 
Lincoln,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  glad 
that  I  have  you  here  in  the  room." 

The  landlady  consulted  with  her 

best  Permanent.    Poor  devil  of  a 

42 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

landlady!  The  Permanent,  think 
ing  to  do  John  a  favour,  advised 
her  to  keep  the  boy  in  the  house 
instead  of  sending  him  to  a  hospital, 
but  the  Permanent  knew  nothing 
of  the  cold  food  or  the  bitter  words 
that  hurt  like  bludgeon  blows.  If 
John  had  gone  to  a  hospital  —  but 
then  the  miracle  would  not  have 
happened. 

The  boy's  increasing  indebted 
ness  made  the  landlady  more  acid 
ulous  to  Lulu.  She  made  caustic 
remarks  to  the  unhappy  little  girl, 
and  when  Lulu  informed  her  that 
she  did  not  need  her  advice,  the 
landlady  retaliated  savagely.  She 
slammed  the  door  in  the  girl's  face 
when  she  came  across  on  the  fol 
lowing  evening,  and  even  refused 
to  open  it  again  to  take  the  basket 

43 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

of  fruit  that  the  little  stenographer 
carried. 

Lulu  took  the  fruit  back  to  the 
corner  shop,  ordered  the  green 
grocer's  boy  to  take  it  to  the 
boarding-house  on  the  following 
morning,  then  went  home  and 
penned  a  letter  to  John.  She 
avoided  wetting  the  letter  with  her 
tears  by  holding  her  head  away 
from  the  bureau  as  she  wrote.  She 
was  all  real  girl,  was  Lulu. 

John  read  and  reread  her  letter 
as  the  radiator  fiends  whistled  at 
him  next  morning.  He  looked  at 
Lincoln  and  smiled  bravely,  then 
he  painfully  scribbled  a  note  in 
reply  to  the  girl's  message.  As  he 
sealed  the  envelope  he  addressed 
the  plaster  bust  on  the  shelf  above 
the  bed 

44 


TEE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

"Mr.  President,  I  have  a  posi 
tion  of  great  trust  for  you,"  he 
said.  "I  am  writing  Lulu  to  tell 
her  that  you  will  convey  to  her  the 
news  of  my  daily  condition.  You 
don't  understand  how  you  will  do 
it,  but  I  have  fixed  it  all.  I  have 
told  her  in  this  letter  that  I  will 
put  you  at  the  window,  and  that 
you  will  tell  her  how  I  am  from  day 
to  day.  It's  a  great  scheme,  Mr. 
Lincoln.  The  landlady  will  not 
let  Lulu  in  to  see  me,  so  I  am  going 
to  turn  your  smiling  face  to  the 
street  when  I  am  feeling  better; 
turn  you  side  on  when  I  am  not 
feeling  so  good,  and  turn  your  back 
to  the  street  when  I  am  —  when 
I  am  any  old  how.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  idea,  eh?  I  hate  to 
think  of  turning  your  back  to 

45 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

Lulu,  Mr.  President,  but  when  I  am 
very  bad  I  will  want  your  face 
turned  this  way  to  comfort  me.  If 
you  are  gone  from  the  window  al 
together,  I  guess  that  she  will  con 
clude  that  I  have  died  peacefully, 
and  that  my  very  estimable  land 
lady  has  thrown  you  out.  Now, 
when  I  get  that  same  landlady  to 
post  this  letter,  I  will  put  you  at 
your  new  duties,  old  friend. " 

John's  plan  was  a  great  success. 
Lulu,  looking  out  of  her  window  be 
fore  rushing  down  to  the  office  of 
Welsher,  could  tell  John's  condi 
tion  from  the  position  of  the  little 
bust  of  Lincoln  in  the  window  op 
posite.  When  the  face  of  Abraham 
was  turned  squarely  to  the  street 
she  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands 
in  glee,  and  in  the  days  that  fol- 
46 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

lowed  the  inauguration  of  the  plan, 
Lincoln  was  always  turned  toward 
her.  But  if  the  bust  could  have 
moved  it  would,  in  its  desire  to 
let  her  know  the  truth,  have  turned 
right  about  face  so  that  she  would 
have  begged  the  landlady  on  her 
knees  to  allow  her  to  come  to  the 
sick  boy's  bedside.  0  you  brick 
caves  of  New  York  City!  What 
tragedies  you  could  tell  if  you  had 
tongues  to  speak!  You  could  tell 
of  the  country  boys  that  lie  on  the 
mean  beds  while  the  landladies  con 
fer  with  the  best  Permanents  as 
to  whether  it  is  better  to  lose  the 
unpaid  board  by  sending  them  to 
the  hospital,  or  chance  another 
week  to  see  if  they  will  recover  and 
pay  up.  And  John's  indebted 
ness  to  the  landlady  was  like  a 

47 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

sandbag  that  she  used  each  time 
she  came  into  the  room  to  hammer 
his  aching  brain. 

"He  wants  sunshine  and  heat," 
said  the  doctor.  "He'll  die  in  this 
atmosphere.  Can't  you  find  any 
of  his  friends?" 

"Friends?"  sniffed  the  landlady. 
"All  the  friends  he  has  is  the  little 
girl  that  pays  your  bills.  He  signals 
to  her  with  that  plaster  statoo  in 
the  window.  I  went  to  move  the 
thing  away  yesterday,  an'  he  nearly 
took  the  roof  off  the  place  with  the 
yell  he  let  out  of  himself." 

The  doctor  sighed  and  went 
away.  The  stuffiness  of  the  room 
was  unbearable  that  morning.  The 
air  in  the  chamber  was  heavy, 
although  the  window-panes  were 
snow-encrusted  on  the  outside. 
48 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

John  got  out  of  his  bed  after 
the  doctor  left  the  room,  and  he 
dragged  himself  to  the  window. 
The  effort  pained  him,  but  he  knew 
that  the  coating  on  the  panes 
made  it  impossible  for  Lulu  to  see 
the  bust.  And  Lincoln  was  the 
only  means  of  communication. 
With  weak,  trembling  hands  he 
lifted  the  sash  about  nine  inches, 
pushed  Abraham  forward,  turned 
him  squarely  and  bravely  to  the 
front,  and  then  crawled  back  to 
bed. 

"We're  not  squeaking,  are  we, 
Mr.  President?"  he  said  with  a 
grim  smile.  "You  never  let  any 
one  know  when  you  got  an  upper- 
cut,  did  you?  And,  by  golly!  I 
won't  own  up  to  Lulu  that  I  am 
inclined  to  take  the  count.  I've 

49 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

been  too  long  with  you  to  show 
the  white  feather.  You've  taught 
me  to  be  game,  Mr.  Lincoln." 

John  went  back  to  bed  and 
dreamed  of  that  first  night  in  early 
Spring  when  he  had  wandered  with 
Lulu  along  the  moon-washed  Drive 
and  listened  to  the  strains  from  the 
white  yacht.  It  was  a  wonderful 
dream.  He  dreamed  that  Lulu 
and  President  Lincoln  and  himself 
were  riding  on  one  of  "the  big 
glowworms" — Lulu's  name  for 
the  Fort  Lee  cars  —  and  behind 
them  a  million  radiator  devils 
screamed  in  hot  pursuit. 

The  dream  car  had  distanced  the 
devils,  and  the  President  was  just 
explaining  matters  to  Lulu  when 
John  was  awakened.  The  land 
lady  was  speaking  outside  the  door 

50 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

of  his  room,  and  her  loud  voice 
echoed  through  the  little  chamber. 
She  was  addressing  some  one,  and 
John's  aching  brain  caught  scraps 
of  the  conversation. 

"He's  sick,  you  know"  —  the 
harsh  voice  grated  on  the  boy's 
ears —  "and  he  insists  on  puttin' 
that  thing  there,  no  matter  what  I 

say  to  him Yes,  sir, 

that's  what  I  say.  The  danger  of 
it,  yes!  .  .  .  I'm  sorry  it  hap 
pened  from  my  house,  but  I'd  like 
you  to  tell  him  yourself  of  the 
foolishness  of  it.  ...  These 
young  men  don't  like  being  spoken 
to.  No,  no,  you  won't  disturb 
him.  Come  right  in." 

John's  brain  tried  hard  to  solve 
the  enigma  constructed  by  her 
words.  What  had  he  insisted  on 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

doing?  How  had  he  annoyed  any 
one?  Who  was  the  person  with  the 
landlady?  He  attempted  to  lift 
himself  upon  his  elbow,  but  the 
effort  was  too  great.  The  long 
weeks  of  illness  had  sapped  his 
strength,  and  he  fell  back  upon  the 
mattress  at  the  moment  that  the 
landlady  stalked  into  the  room, 
beckoning  vigorously  to  a  tall 
man  in  a  shabby  overcoat,  who 
followed  nervously  in  the  rear. 

"  Here's  a  nice  thing  yer  tricks 
'as  gone  an'  done  for  you!7'  cried 
the  shrewish  woman.  "This  gen 
tleman  was  walkin'  down  the  street, 
an'  that  old  bust  of  yours  tumbled 
out  o'  the  winder  an'  nearly  brained 
him!" 

"No,  no,"  protested  the  shabby 
one;  "it  fell  on  my  shoulder,  not  on 

52 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

my  head.  I  gathered  up  the  pieces 
and " 

John  interrupted  with  a  scream 
of  agony.  It  was  a  scream  that 
was  wrenched  from  the  inmost 
recesses  of  the  boy's  heart.  In  the 
thin,  clawlike  hands  of  the  man 
were  a  dozen  pieces  of  shattered 
plaster,  and  the  sick  youth  thrust 
his  face  into  the  pillow  and  sobbed 
wildly.  His  companion  had  left 
him!  The  smiling,  comforting  face 
of  Lincoln  had  gone  forever!  In 
his  anxiety  to  give  Lulu  a  free  view 
of  the  plaster  bust  he  had  forgotten 
the  snapping  window  curtain,  and 
the  treasure  had  been  dashed  to 
the  sidewalk! 

The  landlady  folded  her  arms 
and  stared  at  the  sobbing  figure 
on  the  bed.  "It  would  suit  you 

53 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

better  to  apologize  to  the  gentle 
man  instead  of  cryin',"  she  said 
sternly.  "That  thing  fallin'  from 
a  height  like  that  might  have 
brained  him,  so  it  might.  I  knew 
a  little  boy  that  was  killed  by  a 
milk  bottle  fallin'  from  a  top  winder. 
P'raps  the  gentleman ' 

The  thin,  shabby  man  lifted  his 
hand  and  the  garrulous  woman 
stopped.  "Don't  bother  him,"  he 
said  quietly.  "Let  him  cry.  I 
don't  need  an  apology  —  really  I 
don't." 

He  sat  down  upon  the  solitary 
chair  and  stared  at  the  sobbing 
boy,  and  the  landlady  was  not 
pleased  by  the  look  upon  his  face. 
The  landlady  loved  a  fight.  She 
had  wasted  time  to  bring  the 
stranger  upstairs  after  he  had  ex- 
54 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

plained  the  happening  at  the  street 
door,  and  now  he  didn't  seem  to 
be  half  as  indignant  as  she  hoped 
he  would.  The  boy's  tears  seemed 
to  have  swept  away  the  slight  show 
of  temper  that  was  noticeable  when 
he  climbed  the  stairs  to  reproach 
the  careless  boarder. 

The  landlady  ruminated  over 
the  peculiarities  of  mankind,  and 
thought  of  the  luncheon  which  she 
had  to  prepare  for  her  hungry 
boarders.  If  there  was  to  be  no 
explosion  on  the  part  of  the  shabby 
man  she  could  not  afford  to  waste 
time  on  the  top  floor.  And  the 
shabby  man  showed  no  desire  to 
attack  or  retreat.  He  sat  studying 
the  youth,  who  was  weeping  bitterly 
as  he  contemplated  the  broken 
pieces  of  the  bust  of  Lincoln. 

55 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

The  woman  stood  up  and  moved 
toward  the  door.  She  waited  for 
the  shabby  man  to  accompany  her 
downstairs,  but  he  showed  a  desire 
to  stay.  His  stupidity  annoyed  her. 

"  Well,  you  can  find  yer  own  way 
out  if  yer  want  to  wait  till  he  fin 
ishes  his  cry  in'  fit,"  she  said  sharply. 
"As  for  me,  I've  got  to  prepare  a 
lunch  for  seven  people  with  only 
an  id  jut  of  a  girl  to  help  me." 

She  flounced  away,  and  the  ill- 
dressed  stranger  drew  his  chair 
closer  to  the  bed.  John  had  man 
aged  to  claw  himself  into  a  sitting 
position,  and  now,  still  sobbing, 
he  was  making  an  attempt  to  put 
the  pieces  of  plaster  together.  He 
looked  at  his  visitor  and  tried  in  a 
halting  way  to  express  the  cause  of 
his  emotion. 

56 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

"It  was  Lincoln,  sir,"  he  said 
quietly. 

The  shabby  one  started  slightly, 
then  peered  at  the  piece  of  plaster 
which  was  the  detached  brow  of  the 
great  man.  A  look  of  wonder  crept 
over  his  shrivelled  face,  and  he  wet 
his  thin  lips  on  hearing  the  boy's 
simple  explanation. 

"Lincoln?"  he  stammered. 
"  Abraham  Lincoln?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  John.  "He's 
been  —  Oh,  you  wouldn't  under 
stand,  but  he's  been  a  sort  of  com 
panion  to  me  for  months.  It's 
been  —  been " 

"Been  what?"  questioned  the 
other.  The  little  eyes  that  had  a 
look  of  vague  surprise  within  them 
were  fastened  upon  the  boy. 

"It's  been  lonely,"  said  John. 
57 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

"Lonely?"  cried  the  man. 
"Haven't  you  any  friends? " 

"Only  one,  and  the  landlady 
doesn't  like  her  to  come  here." 

The  shabby  one  moved  closer 
and  fingered  the  bits  of  plaster. 
"But  this  bust,"  he  said.  "The 
landlady  told  me  when  we  were 
coming  up  the  stairs  that  you  per 
sisted  in  putting  it  in  the  window." 

"I  —  I  —  "  stammered  the  boy, 
"I  used  it  as  a  —  as  a  signal  to 
her.  You  see,  sir,  she  lives  just 
across  the  street.  The  friend,  I 
mean." 

A  look  of  wonder  and  compre 
hension  appeared  in  the  small  eyes 
of  the  visitor.  The  chatter  of  the 
landlady  as  she  dragged  him  up  the 
stairs  was  becoming  plain.  When 
he  had  reported  the  happening  at 
58 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

the  door,  she  had  loudly  asserted 
that  it  was  the  fault  of  a  boarder 
who  would  insist  on  putting  a 
plaster  bust  upon  his  window-sill. 

"So  you  used  the  bust  as  a 
signal?"  said  the  shabby  man 
softly. 

"Yes,"  murmured  the  boy.  "I 
would  turn  him  —  Mr.  Lincoln, 
I  mean  —  face  to  the  street  when  I 
was  feeling  better,  side  on  when 
I  was  only  middling,  and  back  to 
the  street  when  I  was  feeling  very 
bad." 

"And  —  and  what  position  —  I 
mean  how  was  he  facing  when  he 
fell  out?"  asked  the  visitor. 

"Facing  the  street,"  said  John. 
"You  see,  I  haven't  been  really 
bad  since  I  put  him  there." 

The  stranger's  eyes  grew  large 
59 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

with  surprise.  He  looked  at  the 
hollow  cheeks  and  the  thin,  white 
hands  of  the  sick  boy,  glanced 
around  the  miserable  room,  and 
twisted  his  lips  up  as  if  he  felt 
inclined  to  whistle  in  an  effort  to 
show  his  astonishment.  The  boy 
had  stated  that  he  was  not  really 
sick,  but  the  keen  eyes  of  the  other 
pictured  Death  waiting  at  the 
bedside. 

"And  was  it  your  bust?"  he 
asked.  "I  mean,  did  you  own  it, 
or  was  it  the  property  of  the  land 
lady?" 

"It  was  mine!"  cried  the  boy 
proudly.  "It  was  grandfather's 
once,  and  —  and  grandfather  gave 
it  to  me  when  he  was  dying.  It 
was  sent  to  him.  He  —  Grand 
father  Robert,  I  mean  —  he  shook 
60 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

the  President's  hand,  and  some  one 
sent  him  the  bust." 

The  tragedy  represented  by  the 
fall  of  the  treasured  memento  came 
to  John  with  full  force  as  he 
thought  of  the  many  times  that 
Grandfather  Robert  had  told  of 
the  happening  at  Richmond  when 
the  great  President  had  gripped  his 
hand  "  till  the  j'ints  cracked."  The 
picture  of  the  old  soldier  telling 
how  his  love  for  Lincoln  had  forced 
him  against  his  will  to  thrust  out 
his  hand  as  the  President  came 
down  the  line,  sprang  up  before 
his  eyes,  and  he  wept  with  his  head 
upon  his  knees. 

The  shabby  man  waited  patient 
ly  till  the  fit  had  passed,  then 
he  renewed  his  cross-examination. 

"And   your  grandfather   shook 
61 


I 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

Lincoln's  hand,"  he  said.  "Did 
he  know  him  personally?" 

"No,  sir,  he  was  a  soldier  under 
General  Grant,"  answered  John, 
and  then,  in  a  desire  to  sing  the 
praises  of  the  President  with  the 
heart  of  gold,  he  told  the  story 
of  the  handshake  as  Grandfather 
Robert  had  told  it  a  thousand  times, 
and  the  visitor  listened  like  a  man 
in  a  dream. 

"  And  he  helped  you  to  fight  your 
sickness?"  he  asked  gently.  "I 
mean,  the  bust  and  the  memory  of 
Lincoln  helped  you?" 

"Helped  me?"  sobbed  the  boy. 
"Why,  he  was  everything  to  me. 
Only  for  him  —  only  for  Lulu  and 
him,  I  —  I " 

The  door  of  the  little  room  was 
thrust  open  at  that  moment,  and 
62 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

the  white,  frightened  face  of  a  girl 
appeared  at  the  opening.  The 
shabby  man  pushed  back  his  chair 
as  she  sprang  forward  with  a  half- 
choked  cry  and  clasped  the  thin 
hands  of  the  boy. 

"Oh,  John,  dear  John!"  she 
cried  hysterically.  "I  came  home 
at  lunch-tune,  and  —  and  —  oh, 
John,  I  couldn't  see  the  bust  at  the 
window!  I  didn't  know  what  to 
think!  I  thought  something  might 
have  happened,  John.  Your  front 
door  was  open,  and  I  —  I  rushed 
right  up  without  asking  permission. 
Oh,  John,  your  poor,  thin  hands! 
Oh,  what  can  I  do?  What  can  I 
do?"  She  burst  into  tears  and 
flung  herself  on  her  knees  at  the 
side  of  the  mean  bed. 

The  shabby  man  stood  up  and 
63 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

turned  his  back  upon  the  two. 
From  the  tail  of  his  torn  overcoat 
he  brought  a  scrap  of  discoloured 
linen  and  rubbed  vigorously  at  his 
nose. 

The  girl  controlled  herself  with 
an  effort  and  endeavoured  to  apol 
ogize  for  her  intrusion.  "I  —  I 
didn't  see  the  bust,  John,"  she 
gasped.  "I  looked  for  it  when  I 
got  to  my  room.  Why  did  you 
take  it  away?  I  thought  that  — 
that  something " 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  the  shattered 
pieces  of  plaster  that  lay  upon  the 
shabby  coverlet,  and  she  knew 
what  had  happened.  "Oh,  poor 
John,"  she  sobbed.  "Oh,  poor, 
poor  John!" 

The  shabby  man  snuffled  openly 
as  the  girl  and  the  boy  wept  over 
64 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

the  shattered  remnants  of  Lin 
coln's  bust.  The  shabby  man  was 
experiencing  sensations  that  were 
new  and  terrible.  For  forty  years 
he  could  not  remember  feeling  a 
thrill  of  joy  or  sorrow  over  the 
happenings  of  another.  He  was  a 
man  of  flint.  The  men  that  he 
had  overthrown  in  the  realms  of 
finance  had  said  that  he  was  a 
devil  in  granite.  They  shuddered 
when  he  came  near.  They  thought 
of  him  as  an  octopus  with  ten 
tacles  ever  ready  to  squeeze  the  life 
blood  out  of  any  one  who  stood  in 
his  path. 

But  in  the  few  brief  moments 
when  the  tears  of  the  two  lonely 
hall-roomers  were  flowing  over  the 
fragments  of  Lincoln's  bust,  God 
had  flashed  before  his  mental  eyes 

65 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

a  picture  of  his  own  soul.  He 
cowered  before  that  picture.  For 
one  fear-fledged  moment  he  saw  his 
own  soul,  stripped  and  naked,  a 
wizened,  devilish  thing,  wrapped 
in  a  cyst  of  greed  and  avarice,  of 
hate  and  selfishness!  He  saw  him 
self  as  a  niggardly  skinflint,  an 
extortioner,  a  miser  who  would  be 
remembered  with  curses,  and  with 
a  cry  of  pain  he  staggered  toward 
the  bed. 

'I  —  I  forgot  something!"  he 
shouted  hoarsely.  "  When  the  bust 
fell  on  the  sidewalk  —  excuse  me 
for  forgetting,  but  I  am  an  old 
man  —  when  it  fell  on  the  stones 
this  —  this  little  scrap  of  paper 
fell  out  of  it.  I  don't  know  what 
it  is.  I  haven't  opened  it,  see. 
It  was  curled  up  like  this,  like  a 
66 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

pipelight.  I  forgot  it,  boy,  listen 
ing  to  your  story.  It's  yours,  it's 
yours." 

He  flung  the  piece  of  paper  upon 
the  pillow,  and  stood  with  wet  eyes 
watching  the  two  lovers. 

"Take  it,  boy!"  he  shouted. 
"Take  it,  it's  your  property." 

John  took  the  scrap  of  paper 
with  trembling  ringers.  As  the 
shabby  one  said,  it  had  been  rolled 
so  tight  that  it  resembled  a  pipe- 
light.  Slowly,  very  slowly,  the 
boy  unwound  it,  smoothed  it  out 
upon  the  pillow;  then,  in  a  silence 
that  one  could  feel,  he  turned  his 
white,  pinched  face  up  to  the  girl 
and  the  man.  The  piece  of  paper 
was  a  thousand-dollar  bill! 

It   was    the   sobbing   girl    that 
broke  the  silence.    "  Oh,  my  God ! " 
67 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

she  cried.  "Oh,  my  dear,  sweet 
God!  John,  John,  it  is  yours! 
The  President  must  have  sent  it  to 
your  grandfather  in  the  bust.  He 
must  have!  Oh,  the  dear,  brave, 
good  Mr.  Lincoln!  You  will  be 
able  to  go  away  in  the  sunshine 
and  get  well,  John!  You  will  get 
nice  food  and  warmth.  Oh,  I  wish 
that  Mr.  Lincoln  was  here  for  me 
to  hug!  John,  say  that  you  will 
get  well!  You  must,  John,  you 
must!  And  when  the  spring  comes 
again  we'll  walk  along  the  Drive 
and  look  at  the  Fort  Lee  cars, 
and  —  and  —  Oh,  God  bless  Mr. 
Lincoln!" 

The  shabby  man  wept  openly. 

Tears  seemed  to  be  a  solvent  for 

the  cyst  of  greed  and  cunning  that 

gripped  his  heart.     He  sat  upon 

68 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

the  bed,  took  the  boy's  thin  hands 
in  his  own  clawlike  fingers  and 
fondled  them. 

"It  is  your  money,  boy,"  he 
stammered.  "  You'll  get  well  now, 
won't  you?" 

John  looked  at  the  bill  and  then 
at  Lulu.  "If  I  could  pay  the  land 
lady  I  — I  think  I'd  get  well 
quick,"  he  gasped.  "She  tells  me 
what  I  owe  her,  Lulu,  and  —  and 
there  are  the  noises  in  the  radiator 
and  the  smell  of  the  carpets  and  — 
change  the  bill  into  small  money, 
Lulu,  change  it,  please!" 

The  shabby  man  wiped  away 
his  tears  and  clawed  for  his  wallet. 
"If  you  would  permit  me  I  think 
I  could  change  it,"  he  spluttered. 
"  I  was  just  going  to  the  bank  when 
the  little  bust  struck  me,  and  I 
69 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

have  with  me  two  thousand  dollars 
in  smaU  bills." 

He  pulled  out  a  bursting  pouch 
and  started  to  count  out  the  bills. 
Lulu  crowed  and  John  laughed 
hysterically.  The  Boy  and  the 
Maid  had  never  seen  so  much 
money.  And  it  was  theirs!  Twen 
ties  and  tens,  fives  and  singles, 
they  covered  the  worn  coverlet, 
and  the  colour  came  into  John's 
face  as  he  fingered  them.  They 
belonged  to  him,  so  the  stranger 
said,  and,  of  course,  that  meant 
that  they  belonged  to  Lulu  as  well. 
He  gave  little  cries  of  joy,  and  the 
man  in  the  shabby  overcoat  tried 
to  whoop  as  he  laid  the  last  bill 
upon  the  bed.  It  was  a  glorious 
display  of  wealth. 

They  counted  them  three  times 
70 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

to  make  sure  that  the  stranger  had 
neither  defrauded  John  nor  himself, 
then  the  shabby  man,  still  weep 
ing  tears  of  joy,  reached  for  his 
hat  and  prepared  to  depart. 

"I  must  be  going  now,"  he  said, 
"but  I'm  coming  to  see  you  again." 

John  gripped  the  clawlike  hands 
and  thanked  him  over  and  over 
again.  "  Oh,  I'm  thankful  to  you ! " 
cried  the  boy.  "It  seems  as 
if  Providence  sent  you  at  the 
moment  the  bust  fell.  If  any  one 
else  had  found  the  money  I  might 
not  have  got  it.  I'll  never  forget 
you,  Mr.  —  Mr. 

"My  name  is  Nixon,"  stam 
mered  the  shabby  one,  "but  the 
papers  —  the  humorous  papers, 
call  me  the  Miser  of  Greeley 
Square.  Good-bye !  Good-bye ! ' ' 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

Like  a  drunken  man  he  staggered 
down  the  stairs.  The  shrewish 
landlady  met  him  in  the  hall,  but 
he  did  not  see  her.  He  saw  noth 
ing.  Through  the  open  door  he 
went  like  a  man  in  a  trance,  but 
in  a  dark  doorway  some  distance 
down  the  street  he  stopped  and 
held  his  skinny  hands  high  above 
his  head. 

"Oh,  God!  God!  God!"  he  cried. 
"What  a  contemptible  life  I  have 
lived !  I  thank  you,  Almighty  God, 
for  letting  me  do  that  little  deed  in 
his  name.  In  his  name,  God !  Book 
it  to  him,  not  to  me !  I  changed  the 
thousand-dollar  bill  so  that  they 
will  never  know  but  what  he  sent 
it.  Forgive  me,  God,  forgive  me!" 

With  clasped  hands  he  staggered 
forward,  his  dry  lips  moving  in 
72 


THE  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

prayer.  Passersby  turned  and 
stared  at  him.  A  policeman 
touched  his  helmet,  but  the  salute 
went  unanswered.  The  Miser  of 
Greeley  Square,  the  man  who  had 
crushed  thousands  to  satisfy  his 
greed,  the  man  who  had  never 
thrilled  at  the  story  of  a  great  act, 
the  man  who  had  scraped  together 
a  million  dollars  by  fraud  and  ex 
tortion,  was  looking  at  his  own 
wizened  soul. 

"  Book  it  to  him,  God ! "  he  mum 
bled.  "Book  it  to  him.  He  shamed 
me.  Yes,  he  did !  Oh,  Lincoln,  Lin 
coln  !  Help  me,  dear  God,  help  me 
to  live  a  better  life;  help  me  to 
make  good,  to  make  some  one  love 
me.  Oh,  God !  let  me  do  something 
that  will  make  a  lonely  heart  sor 
row  for  me  when  I  am  gone." 

73 


THE   COUNTRY   LIFE    PRESS 
GARDEN   CITY.  N.  Y. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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